A Shadow of Life
by invisiblewing
Summary: An account of Jake's last two weeks on Earth before the RDA ships him to Pandora
1. Chapter 1

_**Avatar**_** belongs to James Cameron.**

**This story is rated T for some profanity.**

**Comments and/or suggestions are always welcome. Thanks for reading!**

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I woke up one morning, groggy, like I was under a sedative. Oh, wait. I was. Why was I sedated? Think. Think…Doctors were working on my waist for some reason…Leaning on one elbow, I looked down and saw bandages around my midsection. My mind whirred, looking for something to connect the bandages with. The war in Venezuela. The one that nobody really pays attention to nowadays. Just like all the other wars. And I was a casualty. Not dead. Paraplegic. I had been shot through the small of my back. My legs were now dead weight. This was gonna be a permanent reminder of the hell I had been thrown into. Just to check, I tried to move my toes. Nothing. I couldn't even feel my feet or legs on the bed. I collapsed back down on the hospital bed and sighed. I closed my eyes in my medically-induced stupor and went back to sleep, as if nothing had happened. Maybe it was all a nightmare. Maybe I'd wake up soon and walk out of here.

When I was lying in the V.A. hospital with that big, gaping hole blown through the middle of my life, I started having these dreams of flying. I was free. No dead-weight legs to hinder me, or even to walk with. I was king of the sky. I could see everything below me. But the landscape was burned. Ashes. Maybe it was from the war. It was really weird, because it felt like it was more than just a dream. It just felt so _real_. So damned _real_. But why? Sooner or later, though, you always gotta wake up.

Seriously, for goodness sake, Jacob, you are a Marine. You tell somebody about that kind of stuff, and they'll say exactly why you're paralyzed. _You're just too touchy-feely for the Marines_ or _you really DID go insane, didn't you?_ So I kept it to myself for the year after my discharge.

I wished the war could be a distant memory, but it was permanently burned into my brain. About twenty years ago, the drug cartels that nearly ran the entire country of Colombia decided to venture into Venezuela to get more land to grow their marijuana, poppy and coca plants. They wanted more room to make the drugs and ship them to wherever the demand was. This basically destroyed the US's relationship with both Colombia and Venezuela, since Venezuelan officials pretty much folded like a bad poker hand when the drug cartels moved in. But who was gonna do anything about it if the smoking barrel of a gun was their way of logic? Even the police force was under the drug lords' control. There'd be no questions, no chances for the resistance to back off. The traffickers would just shoot, and that was it. The drug cartels certainly knew how to use force to get people to stay quiet about them. And to make them even more intimidating, they'd just kill random people for no reason to show they really weren't messing around. Police officers, civilians, foreign officials, tourists, military, you name it, someone in each type of group had died thanks to the drug lords.

And these people didn't just die. The drug cartels brutally murdered their victims and dismembered them. For the cartels, killing was almost an art form. Like a stylistic horror movie. High-ranking officials like mayors, ambassadors and rival drug lords routinely found severed heads on their doorsteps. Or people found brutalized neighbors hung by piano-wire nooses from lampposts. Nobody bothered to clean the mess up either. Not when it meant going outside. The cartels were smart enough to lie hidden but waiting. Waiting for that first sucker to try to get the bodies down from the lampposts. One dead body led to five or six more people being killed by gunfire. It was all intimidation, and it worked too. People eventually figured out that having the stench of decay floating around was better than becoming targets.

This type of house arrest was rampant in Venezuela. Drug cartels basically lay siege to neighborhoods, claiming them as their own. Most of the time, people weren't any safer in their houses. The cartels seemed to enjoy kicking down peoples' doors for no apparent reason and killing all the inhabitants inside. Then they'd just leave the dead to rot.

This had been going on for about two years before the US decided to intervene. So was it any wonder that dysentery and cholera were running amok in Venezuela?

Enter the US Armed Forces. And me. We were there to bring back peace and quiet, especially in Caracas, since that was the city the drug lords were after. They were smart enough to go for the capital of Venezuela so that the government would collapse if they succeeded. And come hell or high water, they did. On top of that, the people in the drug cartels were incredibly smart. You don't just get good at drug dealing by being stupid. They knew how to stay hidden, how to bribe their way out of trouble. They knew exactly what to do when they got caught with red hands. There was nothing that could prepare me for the guerrilla tactics that they used for the entire eight months I was there. Every day, I was on edge, trying my damnedest to figure out whether the guy I was staring at was really just a civilian or a drug trafficker. They all looked the same to me, with that don't-mess-with-me expression. And I only had a split-second to decide. Needless to say, I came back to the US a disheveled nervous wreck. And a paraplegic. Diagnosed with "mild post-traumatic stress disorder." I was still alive, but I wasn't sure if it was any better than being dead. Most of my fellow Marines came back in body bags. If it wasn't because of the gunfire and shrapnel, it was because of disease. Venezuela had become the cesspool of the world.

Paraplegia has this profound effect on its victims. They get to live in a wheelchair for the rest of their lives. They're as tall as everybody else's waists. In a word: it sucks. With all of the wonderful advances in modern medicine, I could get myself fixed. They could fix a broken spine. Make me walk again. Oh, wait. The money part. Yeah, veteran's benefits won't cover for that operation. Not in this economy. Not only is it too expensive, but it's also considered a "cosmetic surgery." Insurance-wise, that translated to having to pay for the entire operation myself. So I get to live in a wheelchair. Forever. Did I tell Tommy about this? I know it's been a year since the injury, but did he know? I couldn't believe I wasn't closer to him than this. He was my identical twin brother, after all.

Tommy was in some top-secret program for a massive corporation. He was planning to be shot light-years into space. To Pandora. I had heard about it here and there. The news services love to run clips about Pandora. People always took an interest because it was _green_. Green everywhere. My idea on why people were so interested in Pandora was because it was something they had never seen before. They wanted a way out of this hellhole we were living in now. I never really paid attention to it, but I never could go somewhere without hearing about Pandora. Most discussions were Pandora this and Pandora that. Even so, it was all kind of interesting anyway. Tommy never could tell me what he was up to, just that he was going to Pandora and he would lose all contact with me for the next decade or so. All I knew was that he was training really hard for this mission. He could have been a hell of a Marine, but he chose to earn a Ph.D. in anthropology. At least anthropology was safer than being on the front lines of a war.

The corporation Tommy worked for was called the RDA. Resources Development Administration, I think. Whatever it was, it had a huge monopoly over the entire world. Heck, it even had a monopoly on Pandora. They had helped bring the Earth down to pocket-size with all of the advances in technology. Someone could hop on a bullet train in New York and get to London in just over an hour using a trans-Atlantic tunnel. They were planning on building a trans-Pacific tunnel and balking at the cost and engineering. Well, until they found out what Pandora had to offer. Some rock that could solve all of Earth's problems, as it was advertised. So they funneled all of their money into space travel and things like that. I had pieced together an idea of how we came to know about Pandora through all of the news footage and the media's biased coverage of it all. Even a dummy like me could tell it was biased, so I guessed the RDA had control over the media, too.

Scientists had found out about Pandora about thirty years before I was born. I'm twenty-three right now, so that would make it known to us for just over fifty years. They had sent probes over ten years before that to explore the Alpha Centauri system, because it was our nearest neighboring star. The only reason I knew that fact was because it comes on the news every night. It's been pounded into my head with a broken hammer. The scientists found that Pandora is a lot like Earth, simply because they found vegetation growing. They also found continents, oceans and even more vegetation. Oh, and did I mention mountains? How about floating mountains? The scientists found that Pandora was home to a crazy expensive rock they called a superconductor. This was the rock that was gonna solve Earth's problems. They've been bringing it back for about three years or so, but all I could tell was that it didn't solve _any_ of our problems. But censorship is a wonderful thing if you've got money, so all we hear is that this rock is the best thing ever known to mankind. The scientists of the world call this rock a "room-temperature superconductor," which I think means it has a really low resistance to electricity at room temperature. When they started bringing the superconductor back to Earth, the RDA immediately finalized plans for a trans-Pacific tunnel, like they had wanted. Now, the journey from Los Angeles to Tokyo took a little less than two hours, thanks to the Pandoran rock. So the world was officially pocket-sized, which made everyone believe any problems were in the past.

I wished the RDA or whoever would listen to people like me, because we always saw things in black-and-white. Even though the superconductor was amazing, the pollution on Earth wasn't decreasing. People were still fighting over pointless tracts of land nobody cared about. There were still terrorists bombing and killing everything they could reach because their religion taught them it was good to kill for their god. I figured they'd eventually start bombing the ocean tunnels. Then all hell would definitely break loose. So how was this superconductor supposed to stop the pollution, wars and terrorism? But the scum of the world wasn't important, even if they all had the same voice. Mega-corporations could just ignore them, simply because they had the money. That was the problem with the RDA. Since they never really did anything to help the common person, I grew to hate them. They never improved _my_ world. And yet they called our little planet more livable than ever. I wondered if it was more livable than Pandora.

Eventually, the scientists and RDA decided to send people to Pandora to see what was really going on. And they found animal life. Or whatever you call aliens that move. But wait, it gets better. They found _intelligent_ life. The news services keep showing a picture of a lanky blue-skinned human-looking animal holding a bow and arrow. The animal looked female. I'm pretty sure all the men on Earth wanted to hook up with her. She was beyond drop-dead-gorgeous. They call these "people" the Na'vi. They've got tails, and their faces look a little more like a cat's. The noses are flat, and there's no bridge between the eyes. Their ears are pointed, also like a cat's, but they're about where you would expect them to be if they were human: on the sides of the head. Oh, and their eyes are golden. Their body build is a little different than ours. I'm not sure if they are the same height as we are, but their waists are narrow and their shoulders are very wide, compared to their hips. Even so, the Na'vi look really lanky, but built.

Occasionally, the news services ran specials on the Na'vi language. I never paid attention on what the news services were teaching, but the important thing I learned was that the Na'vi could talk like you and I do, even if it was in a different language.

I thought Tommy had a really cool opportunity. Not only to see these people up close and personal, but at the very least, he'd get away from the problems of Earth for a while. After the news services had brainwashed me about Pandora, I felt kind of jealous that he'd be able to get out of this living hell that we were in on Earth. I figured I'd never get the chance to do anything like this. Ever. I wasn't qualified in any way to even think about going to Pandora, simply because I didn't have a pair of working legs.

But who was I fooling? I learned very quickly that being in a wheelchair shouldn't slow me down. I could pass any test a man could pass. All I needed was an opportunity. I might have been discharged from the military, but the attitude never left me. There was no such thing as an ex-Marine.

I had realized during the year after my discharge that I had gone to Venezuela just to fight. I didn't know what I was fighting for. They kept giving me that argument about how we were "fighting for freedom" and so forth. And they were right. Freedom doesn't come free, ladies and gentlemen. But I went to Venezuela with no clear goal in my mind. I was there just to help keep the drug cartels and the guerilla fighters at bay, trying to help some other country keep itself afloat. Because they told me to. And I had no choice. Over the course of that year, I realized what I was looking for in life: something to fight for. I wanted something worth _living_ for.

While I was searching for that reason, life drudged on. All the days were molding into each other. It was the same routine every day. Wake up, breakfast, try to find work until lunch, lunch, maybe an interview here and there, dinner and unwind for the evening, sleep, blah, blah, blah. Interviews never went well, simply because I was "disabled," as they put it. But I learned very quickly that disabled is someone who quits. I was only "less-abled." I wanted everyone to shut up about what they thought I couldn't do. But you don't have much clout when you're as tall as everyone else's waist.


	2. Chapter 2

I sat in my apartment, listening as the newscaster droned on about the current state of affairs around the world today. But she didn't say anything interesting, so I wheeled over to my dresser and found a pair of khaki pants. Before I slithered out of my wheelchair and changed my shorts out, I looked at my atrophied white legs. Useless pieces of meat. They were the size of twigs and had no muscle in them. My kneecaps were nearly poking through my skin, pointed at sickeningly bizarre angles. And this was only after one year in a wheelchair. I thought about what they would look like in…wait, that might be nightmarishly bad. Let's not go there. I shuddered as the newscaster kept talking. I listened for a heartbeat, just to see if there was anything interesting on the news yet.

"…bengal tigers are making a comeback after more than a century of extinction. The cloned cubs at the Beijing Zoo have survived their first month and will receive names at the end of the week. You can submit names at the website at the bottom of your screen…" A rare bit of good news, but nothing interesting yet. Wait, why _Beijing?_ If I thought the pollution was bad in the United States, then there was no word that could describe the air in China. I figured those tiger cubs wouldn't survive much longer. Never mind on the good news.

After my discharge, the military said they would pay for a year's worth of rent in a standard apartment complex. I thought the more appropriate word was "jail." I was living in a box with two rooms: a living room/kitchenette/dining room/bedroom and a bathroom/closet. My bed was shoved into the far corner of my unit, into a small corridor, about five feet away from the other wall. A portion of that wall was a big-screen TV. It came standard with the apartment. Other than that, this box was pretty drab. And it was falling apart, too. The living room was generally spacious, and the military was at least kind enough to provide a large, soft mat to make it look somewhat livable. Looking back toward the door was the kitchenette and to the left, just before you got there, was the bathroom/closet. This place never held heat very well because it was all stone. The wall next to my bed was sloughing off, revealing grayish brick that had been contaminated by pollution. The floor was always freezing since it was concrete. It really wasn't any wonder that I always sounded like I had a cold. I figured that the only way that the military could afford to have so many people on welfare was to give them the cheapest places available.

My year was set to end in three weeks, and I had been job-hunting to make sure that I could make ends meet when my expenses would begin to outweigh my vet benefits. And to get the hell out of this concrete box. I counted the number of interviews I had been through in my head. Seven…no, eight, counting last week. Nobody wanted to take a "disabled" worker in this world. Even for a job that required you to stare at a computer screen all day and push buttons. I was going to continue working toward a job, hoping someone wouldn't tell me that I couldn't do a certain task because I was in a wheelchair. I knew I could find the right fit. But tonight, I was going to relax.

I slid out of my wheelchair onto the bed and laid on my back. I began inching the shorts off my dead legs, working one side a few inches and then the other a few more inches. Back and forth, back and forth. I sat up and slid the shorts off my knees, then ankles and then feet. I picked up my pants and started working them on, having to stretch my arms to my feet. I bent my right leg with one arm and used the other to work the pants leg on. Then I did the same with the other leg. Slowly, I worked the pants up to my waist, inches at a time. Eventually I got the waist on and buttoned and zipped the pants up. Before moving anymore, I rested for a brief minute, listening some more to the news.

"For those stargazers out there, tonight's going to be a clear night in the city. If you face south, Alpha Centauri will be clearly visible in the night sky. What you're seeing onscreen now is a diagram of what the southern sky will look like tonight. AC is highlighted in the orange circle.

"Speaking of the Alpha Centauri system, we've received more news from Pandora." I glanced at the wall, wondering if I would catch anything interesting. "Scientists on Pandora have isolated the compounds responsible for the bioluminescence that is ubiquitous in the plant life there. Stay tuned to find out how it will help Earth become a better place." Nope, nothing of interest. The wall went blank, and a commercial started.

A better place. Heck, _anything_ someone brought back from Pandora would make Earth a "better place," wouldn't it? I rolled my eyes as the commercial switched to a new type of filter that supposedly lasted longer in exopacks. That certainly wasn't from Pandora. I slithered into my wheelchair and rolled away as the wall droned on. I was headed south, toward the kitchenette. Being alive meant I had to eat.

I opened the cabinet that had been modified for me and my wheelchair and looked inside. Powder. This was all supermarkets stocked nowadays. If you were really lucky and had more money than God, occasionally you'd be able to get something like hamburger meat or steak or shrimp. But for the rest of us, we got spices. Or flavorings. To put on algae. It was the only sustainable food source we could reliably stock the world with. The air in the good ol' U.S. of A. was too corrupted to support any significant crop growth, and places that could just kept their crops to themselves. They had enough people to feed as it was. The world was nicely overpopulated at twenty billion people, but the population seemed to have held steady there for the past twenty years or so. That was a lot of mouths to feed. Every now and then, I sarcastically wondered if God would reduce the population of the Earth. After all the trashing of the planet we had done, maybe we deserved to have our global population reduced.

Tonight, the choices were…limited. "Crap," I mumbled. One package left. Salmon. It had come in a variety pack that was slightly cheaper than standard packs of flavorings. The supermarket wrote itself on the places-to-visit-within-the-near-future list.

The recipe was the same every meal. One package of flavoring, one-and-a-half cups of algae and one tablespoon of water. Mix and microwave for two-and-a-half minutes, and you had instant gourmet algae. _Voila_. I was sick and tired of algae. But I ate it because I was hungry and there was nothing else. Every bite was revolting. The flavoring tonight was too sweet, and the algae always had a horrible texture. I wondered if real salmon tasted like this. I always had the wall on so that I could listen while I was eating. Keeping my mind focused on something other than the food in front of me was the only thing separating me from vomiting. I listened to the newscaster as I ate.

"…in South America, the US Armed Forces is still fighting in Venezuela. We just received word six hours ago that one of the satellite villages near Caracas has been liberated from any drug cartel control. Any remaining cartel members have fled to other locations. One officer simply described it as a 'step in the right direction.' There has been no word, however, as to how long it will take for all of Caracas to be liberated."

"Never gonna happen," I mumbled into my bowl that was nearly empty of light pink algae. After finishing dinner, I placed the bowl and spoon into the sink. I turned off the wall, grabbed my keys, wallet and phone off the table and rolled out of my apartment, locking the door behind me. I started wheeling east toward my destination, which was a couple of blocks away from my apartment.

After about three pumps, I realized I had forgotten my exopack. "Dammit," I mumbled under my breath. I turned around and reentered my apartment, grabbing the exopack and fitting it on. I closed the door behind me again and locked it. I stopped and activated the flow of clean air through the mask. I thought it was peculiar that I had to keep the filter in my lap, instead of hidden underneath a coat, or on a holster at my waist. I had figured I was an easy target for an exopack robbery, but nobody paid me any mind ever since I showed up in Anytown, USA, even though I had seen four people robbed at knifepoint or gunpoint of their exopacks in the last month. I looked forward and started that way.

On my way, I glanced at the skyline above the buildings in the distance. A neon holographic sign was advertising "SimuSex," whatever the hell that was. That advertisement had been there for about a month now. I shuddered, trying to picture in my mind what that "service" might include. Gross. I returned my eyes back to the path in front of me, squeezing my way between throngs of people jammed up shoulder-to-shoulder, walking like moving sardines in a can. Slowly, I headed in the direction I needed to go.

I had to cross an intersection to get there. I pulled up to the traffic stop and waited with about eight other people to cross the street. Nobody looked down at me. I counted five of them wearing exopacks, trying to keep the pollution in the air they were breathing to a minimum. For a brief moment, I wondered if any of them were using that new-fangled filter the commercial was advertising. The other three people were simply wearing surgeon's masks. I figured they wouldn't last much longer. Our district was a few blocks away from some production and manufacturing plants. All I could think of was the strong prey on the weak, and nobody does anything about it. Those peoples' possessions would either go to their immediate family members or they'd just become property of the bank. Then it would be time for an auction.

I glanced upward as I heard a low, hollow roar above us. A maglev train was streaking overhead, intent on reaching its destination. As far as I could tell, that was the only reason we had to go to Pandora for Unobtanium: for construction of the maglev rails. We had plenty of them around, that was for sure. But where else did the Unobtanium go? I'm sure plenty of other people were wondering the same thing. I returned my gaze to my front, where I could clearly see the other side of the intersection. Slowly, cars, buses and trucks crawled down the street. They couldn't move quickly because there was just so much crap going on every night. It might have been easier for them just to walk, even if it meant they'd have to carry their loads.

_Bing_! The chime sounded, signaling us to walk or roll across the intersection. I pumped along with the crowd, seeing for the kazillionth time that everyone was walking shoulder-to-shoulder, shuffling along, intent only on reaching their destinations. Just like the maglev trains. Nobody cared about anybody else. I crossed the street and rolled down the sidewalk, passing other apartment complexes that looked exactly the same as mine. I glanced at them and saw that what was once white stone had become a drab grey, thanks to the pollution floating around. Half the people I passed also had that grey color. Every time they took a step, dust fell off their clothing and hair, leaving a floating trail of soot, ash and other pollutants. I tried to hurry to get to where I wanted to go. I didn't want to become like them. So I started moving faster.

Eventually, I came up to the doorway to my destination. My favorite bar in town. I liked it because the bartender was nice to me. Not feeling sorry for my condition, but he was just respectful towards me. Just like he was to everyone else. I liked that. I pulled the mask off and placed it in my lap along with the filter.

"Howdy, Jake," the bartender said as I approached.

"Hey, can I get a tequila shot?" I asked.

"Sure, gimme one sec." The bartender ducked momentarily behind the counter and produced a shot glass. He filled it with tequila.

"Thanks." I grabbed the shot and rolled to the middle of the floor in the bar. Time for the show.

As I approached the open area, I tilted my head back and placed the shot glass on my chin. I made sure that I could balance it there for a few seconds. I heard a few catcalls and cheers come from the rest of the bar. _Just wait_, I thought. _You ain't seen nothin' yet._

Holding the shot glass with my right hand, I used my left to rock my wheelchair onto its back wheels. As I found my balance, my right hand came off the shot glass. I held it away from my wheelchair, only using my left hand to hold on to the wheel. People in the bar were certainly getting worked up about my little shenanigan. I heard the cheers get louder as I held the shot on my chin while balancing on two wheels. I smiled a little, basking in the attention. Occasionally, being "less-abled" had its perks.

Eventually, my left arm got tired of holding the wheelchair, so I tilted forward slightly as my left hand came off the wheel. My wheelchair crunched down on its front wheels as the shot glass left my chin. I caught it in midair with my right hand and slammed the shot down without spilling a drop. The bar patrons exploded in a round of applause. I held the shot glass up triumphantly, rolled over to the bartender and thunked the empty glass upside-down on the bar, like you would do in a drinking contest.

"That's pretty crazy," he said, laughing. I smiled.

Just then, the flying dreams popped into my head. They certainly had a habit of showing up unannounced. Without trying to draw his concern, I said, "Heineken, please." He nodded and gave me the beer and a frosted mug.

Before I was going to roll away, the bartender said, "Hey, those two drinks are on the house. Thanks for the show, Jake."

I smiled sheepishly, trying to hide the sudden change in my state of mind and said, "Thanks." He winked back at me before turning his attention to a couple of customers at the bar.

I wheeled my way to an open table, opened the beer and poured it into the mug. I placed the empty can, mug and my exopack onto the table. Maybe I could figure these dreams out over the beer. So I started drinking. Slowly. I wanted to have time to decipher all this. They had been taking a toll on my life for the past year. It had gotten so bad that I almost couldn't perform everyday activities, like waking up or eating. I stared at my distorted reflection in the glass, thinking. My face had a golden tone because of the beer. I picked up the glass again and took another sip. As I put the glass down, I retraced the dream in my head. I felt like I was flying over a burned landscape. A few jagged tree trunks were standing up, peppering the ground. There were no features to the land, just a flat plain, well, what _should_ have been a plain as far as the eye could see. No other animals or people, just me, alone, surveying the destruction. Just looking. Every time I tried to look around, I saw the same thing: destruction. But I never cast a shadow.

It was one of those "WTF!?" moments. Was I supposed to be concerned about this? Was I supposed to be sad that someone had just taken a giant flamethrower to a forest? Angry? Happy? I had been seeing this exact same vision for the past year. It was like a broken record, replaying the same portion over and over again. The image never, _ever_ changed. It was always the same charred landscape. Even if it was green or tickle-me-pink or some other color besides black, I knew Venezuela didn't look like this. Well, at least the area around Caracas didn't. I didn't remember seeing this landscape anywhere; it just popped into my head right after I returned to the US. Something weird was going on, but I was at a loss to figure out what it was.

I took another sip, hoping something would come to me.

A loud smack and a scream jolted me out of my dreamscape. I looked toward the source of the sound. One of the patrons had just hit his girl. His head could have looked like a cue ball from a distance. I wondered if it was their first date together. Doubt it. But something inside me started welling up. I couldn't stop it. I had always had a rule that you should never hit a woman, especially when she's good-looking. But what really threw me over the edge was his attitude toward his girl. "I bet you're not gonna say that again to me, bitch!"

I white-knuckled the grips on my wheelchair and slowly rolled over to the guy. He was burly, that was for sure. But he didn't see me roll up. He was still looking at the girl, who was now sobbing hysterically. So I grabbed his bar stool and yanked. _Hard_. His seat flew out from underneath him and he collapsed in a heap on the floor, still trying to figure out what was going on. I leapt from my wheelchair onto him, punching. Angry punches. Lots of them. He had no shot at getting me off of him I was so ticked.

The bouncers, though, had plenty of time to hoist me up, still seething and seeing red. The guy looked at me like I had tried to kill him with a knife, but missed. His right temple was bleeding. I hoped it would require stitches. The two bouncers dragged me to the doorway and threw me out like I was a Frisbee. My legs still didn't work, even from the beating, so I had no way to break the fall. My wheelchair came flying out and landed inches away from my head. Pretty good aim, but if they were trying to hit me with it, they missed. The door slammed behind them.

"YOU ASSHOLES JUST LOST A CUSTOMER!" I screamed back at the closed door. I realized my exopack was still at the table with my unfinished beer. Crap. I didn't have the money to buy a new one. Those things were expensive. I guessed a surgeon's mask would have to do. I figured my life just got a hell of a lot shorter.

It was raining, because the night couldn't get any worse. I mean, I had been living in a hellhole for the past year for crying out loud. Pollution was terrible, wars were going on nonstop. And we called it "civilized." I didn't see anything "civilized" about the way we were living, especially from that skinhead. Boy, I seriously hoped he would need lots of stitches at the least.

A neon sign caught my attention. I squinted at it through the falling rain as a maglev train zipped by overhead. It was advertising that "SimuSex" again. Whatever it was, it certainly was everywhere. Apparently, the United States of Hell had no idea what morals meant anymore.

Then the door swung open again. Two men in suits and trench coats came up and found me lying on the ground. My wallet had flown out of my pocket. One of the suits picked it up, but didn't reach for the money. He found my ID. The other one came up to me and handed my exopack to me, saying, "You'll need this."

"Jake Sully," the first suit said to me. "Correct?" He handed my wallet back to me. I grabbed it from him and checked to make sure nothing was taken. Everything was in place. Why the hell would he pick up my wallet to check my ID and give it back? Was he a police officer? Nah, he was wearing a suit. He was probably FBI.

"Leemelone," I mumbled. "You're ruining my good mood." I started to struggle my way to my wheelchair, but the other suit stepped between me and my ride.

"Jake, would you come with us?" the suit between me and my wheelchair asked.

"Why?"

"It's about your brother."

"Tommy?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so."

Oh, crap. I didn't want to ask, but I already knew the answer.

I stayed mum. They loaded me and my wheelchair into a white van and began driving.


	3. Chapter 3

I didn't want to be here. My year was gonna end, I had just gotten thrown out of a bar for defending someone, it was raining, and I was in a crematorium staring at a six-foot-long cardboard box.

Damned. Perfect. Night.

Tommy was dead. My only brother was dead. Some punk killed him yesterday just so he could have the paper in Tommy's wallet. All $18 of it.

"Is this your brother?" one of the suits asked.

My heart sank and a lump lodged itself in my throat as I looked at him. "Yeah." God, he was so pale. I couldn't handle it any longer, so I looked away and down at my shoes.

All I remembered about Tommy was how geeky he was. Any kind of science discussion could make him perk up. He always had that twinkle in his eyes, especially if you could speak science with him. I guessed that was why he was everybody's favorite kid. He had that proverbial rocket strapped to his back. He just learned everything quickly. Me? I had the proverbial lead shoes.

My family always loved to talk about Tommy because he was an overachiever. He always succeeded, no matter what. People loved to listen to my parents brag about him. But they never mentioned me. Over the years, I had grown comfortable living in Tommy's shadow, not caring if I was noticed or not. It was a place where I could show up to family events and holidays and at least look like I was enjoying the atmosphere without having to answer difficult questions. Like what was going on at school, or how my friends were doing, or why I couldn't be more like Tommy.

_That_ was the question I dreaded. It was always an aunt or uncle who wasn't very close to us, but had heard about all of Tommy's achievements. But I never had anything to gloat about. So, after my attempted conversations with the distant family members flopped, they would almost invariably ask me, "Jake, why can't you be more like Tommy?" And I never had an answer. I hated that question. It started to bother me so much by the time I was in high school, I almost couldn't join my family for holiday get-togethers like Thanksgiving and Christmas. Holidays were supposed to be a time of good will, but I dreaded them every year because of that one question.

Thankfully, Tommy never rubbed it in. He helped me with my homework when I was struggling with it, which was every day after school. He never asked me, "Why can't you get this?" He was always patiently there for me when we were in school. He did a few of my chores occasionally and lied to my parents about it, telling them I had done them. Just so that they would notice me. He understood better than anyone, maybe including me, what my life was like. He was there for me no matter what, and he never asked for anything in return. Every day, I looked up to him. I wanted to be like Tommy when I grew up. I wanted to be the guy you always wanted to hang with.

But it never came to me. I grew up thinking I was a failure because I had a brother named Tommy who was amazing. I never really did well in school, but did just barely enough to pass. I couldn't attend any kind of university, so the military was my only choice. I was some grunt who only could field-strip a weapon, and that was it. Not popular, just trained. But Tommy could do anything. It didn't matter what it was, if he saw a goal, he could get there. But not anymore. My favorite role model ever was gone. I felt a tear sliding down my cheek. "Did you bring me here just to claim the body?" I asked the suit in front of me.

The other suit responded. "No. We've got a proposition for you."

They taped the box that he was in and rolled it into a furnace. There was some kind of preacher there. He had his Bible open and read a few verses. One of them was how God gives us strength. Another was about how everyone was saved because of Jesus. There were a few others, but I stopped listening. When he asked us to pray, I bowed my head, but never meant it. And the preacher left without another word. An unceremonious funeral that lasted maybe five minutes. Unless you were super-rich, this was all you'd get.

The mortician started up the fire.

"What did you wanna talk to me about?" I asked, still looking into the furnace.

"Come with me," the suit said.

We entered a small room with a manila filing folder on the table. It was thick like a book. Probably a job application. I had already filled out God-knows-how-many job applications, so in the grand scheme of things, what was one more? It wasn't like I was actually going to land it, right? I mean, these suits would eventually bring up the "disabled" word. They had plenty of time to notice I wasn't fit to stare at a computer screen and push buttons. Or answer phones. Because I was in a wheelchair. And then they'd lose interest in me, just like everyone else. But to humor them, I figured I might as well fill it out, just to make sure they weren't _entirely_ wasting their time chatting with me.

"Your brother represented a significant investment to the RDA," one of the suits began with a sigh. "Did you ever talk to him about it?"

"No. I didn't talk to him that much after high school."

"Well, he was supposed to leave for Pandora in two weeks as part of the Avatar program. Each Avatar is genetically linked to the controller. With Thomas's death, the investment would be a complete waste of millions of dollars. However, you're his identical twin, so your genomes match. You could feasibly fill his shoes in…so to speak."

Ha ha, funny guy. I rolled my eyes. I tried to keep myself distant from the suits. I had intended to go through the motions of filling out the application and then I would leave, but they actually seemed mildly interested in me. Tommy's name reentered my mind. Avatar? I had never heard the word "avatar" mentioned in my life. Tommy never said anything about an avatar. "What's the Avatar thing?" I asked, now curious.

"On Pandora, there are sentient humanoid creatures. They call themselves the Na'vi. You've probably seen a picture or two of them on the news at some point. The Avatar program takes genetic material from various Na'vi donors and blends it with human DNA to make a hybrid. An Avatar. You'd be able to control one of these hybrids through a psionic link. We've been trying to establish favorable contact with the Na'vi for about ten years now, and we need all the help we can get."

I eventually got the gist of his spiel, although the science-y part confused the heck out of me. "You want me to get shot light years into space for this?"

"Yes. Think about it. You're doing something spectacular. Something that only about 15 other people have done before. 15 out of 15 billion."

I paused for a beat. "No way," I said. "That line was what caused me to become a paraplegic a year ago. Find someone else."

"Can't," one of the suits said. "You're the only person who can link with Thomas's Avatar. You _are_ his identical twin, correct?" I nodded at him. "Then that means your genomes match. The Avatar is made only for Tommy. It has his genetic makeup. No one else can use it. Except you."

"Then you just wasted a bucketload of money. I can't do this anymore. You're basically asking me to wander around some planet that isn't even designed for me. I may be 'less-abled,' but what you're saying is impossible. I don't have a way to get around anything that isn't concrete."

"You won't have to worry about that."

"Whaddya mean 'I won't have to worry?' There isn't a chance in hell that you could get _Pandora_ ready for me!" I slurred the word "Pandora" mockingly. I was pissed with him for not telling me what the hell he was thinking.

"Jake, just stop." I glared at him, waiting. He was going to have to pull some unbelievable magic trick out of his trench coat to change my attitude. "You'll be wandering around Pandora, but you're going to have working legs."

He almost whispered that last bit in my ear. I think I blanched when he said that. I saw the other suit's reaction. His face brightened a little bit, probably because he knew what I was going to say.

Working legs. They never said _that_ to me before I went to Venezuela. These suits had turned the "disabled" argument onto its head. My brain was spinning. I started wondering what Pandora would be like. This was becoming a possibility. But what would I have to do? Mining? I knew they bring back that superconductor from Pandora. But a pair of legs that worked…for free? I knew I could afford that. A restorative surgery for free, and it didn't matter if it was cosmetic or not. But just to check, I asked them, "So I'm going to have surgery to get my legs back in the next two weeks?"

"No, although when you ship back to Earth, there may be a chance you can have that surgery done. We'll check around and let you know before you leave," one of the suits said. This was a matter-of-fact tone. Then how the hell was I supposed to walk on Pandora?

"Okay, then explain what you mean by 'working legs.'"

"When you make the transfer to your Avatar body, you'll have working legs. In simple terms, you'll probably be walking by day and in a wheelchair by night. But there are stories of people who can stay in their Avatar bodies for up to about three or four days on end."

I was still confused out of my mind. What did he mean by "make the transfer to my Avatar body?" They had said something about a psionic link, so maybe I'd be using my mind to…nah. Psychic stuff only exists in the movies. But still, a pair of working legs, even if I was going to be a paraplegic for half the time, sure sounded good. I didn't think he was lying either, since he had been so willing to share information with me. Either that or he was really good at lying to get a business deal.

"Um," I started. I was still unsure if I _really_ should go through with this. But sometimes, your whole life boils down to one insane move. One crazy, stupid decision. I could stay on Earth and keep my way of life, my paraplegia. It was familiar to me. Or I could travel to Pandora, the unknown, where a pair of working legs was there for me. I eventually made a decision. "Okay. I'll do it. What do I have to do to get ready?" I figured the suits wouldn't let me go until I agreed to take over Tommy's contract. And besides, I'd get away from the hellhole of Earth for a little while.

"We'll help you fill out the paperwork."

I got started on the mountain of papers in that folder in front of me. I signed this one, signed that one, and looked at how much money I'd have when I got back. That was a lot of zeroes. And only two of them were after the decimal point. Maybe I'd still have health insurance after I shipped back. If so, I'd definitely be able to afford my surgery, even if I'd have to pay out-of-pocket. I signed a waiver after reading it over. It was about cryosleep. They told me it's where you get frozen over a period of time. Nearly six years, to be exact. The time it takes to get to Earth to Pandora. Frozen, so that you don't use any of the limited resources on the shuttle. Made sense to me, but was it safe?

"In the event of a failure, the passengers will be euthanized," the suit explained. "The ship will still arrive at Pandora to deliver its cargo, though. The chances of failure of some kind are about half a percent."

"What happens to the Avatars?" I asked.

The suit paused, not knowing what to say. After an awkward moment, he said, "I'm really not sure. You'd have to ask someone higher up in the corporate food chain about that."

"If a problem happened on board, would I know that I was going to be euthanized?"

"No. Besides, we've had statisticians and other math and science gurus figure out the possibilities for a problem dozens of times. They've all agreed that the chance for a mishap on board is about half a percent. Either way, I wouldn't worry about it."

Okay, low chances of being killed on the way there, I guessed. I signed my life away on what seemed like a few hundred other papers, glancing toward the furnace, wondering about Tommy. Would he have wanted me to take his place? Would he be proud of me, knowing I was trying to be like him, trying to succeed? I hoped so.

I returned my mind to the stack of papers in front of me. Most of them were waivers. A waiver about the general dangers of space flight. A waiver about Pandora itself. A waiver about the Avatar. The list went on and on. All I could figure out without falling asleep was that the entire assignment was dangerous. Kinda like the military.

One paper in particular caught my attention. With the others, I had given them a cursory glance to make sure there wasn't any kind of hoodwinking going on. But this one, I read through the entire thing. It was titled "Pandora: The Na'vi."

RDA

Resources Development Administration

Pandora:

The Na'vi

While on Pandora, the greatest hazard of the entire planet is the indigenous population, called the Na'vi. There are three documented clans of Na'vi, each of which comprises hundreds, if not thousands, of individuals. Most of the contact that has been established is with the Omaticaya Clan (English: Blue Flute Clan). Each Na'vi warrior is trained for both melee and ranged combat. These warriors have approximately four to five times the strength of an average human, and are between 9 and 11 feet tall. The Na'vi are renowned for their stealth, as many humans and some Avatars have been killed without knowing that there were warriors nearby. It is in your best interest to learn about Pandora from within the Avatar compound, which is the safest place for your Avatar to be. Any expeditions outside the compound (e.g. studying of flora or fauna, mining) must be documented beforehand. Additionally, your supervisor must know about your intention to leave the compound, and he/she must affirm your reason to do so. When performing research or mining outside the compound, each Avatar must use the buddy system. Preferably, it is advantageous to partner with another Avatar. Each team must be documented with your supervisor. If your intention is to establish contact with the Na'vi, use extreme caution. The Na'vi are on record as being highly reclusive, going so far as to kill any human or Avatar who wanders too close to their village. If any expedition is of this type, there is a training period of one month that must be completed before attempting to contact the Na'vi. The course must be completed and attested by your supervisor and two other Avatar drivers. During any time outside the Avatar compound, each Avatar driver must wear a communication collar. If any of these rules are not followed, the supervisor is required to pursue maximum consequences.

I attest that I have read, understood and agree with the above information.

Printed name:_

Signature:_

Witness signature:_

Immediately after reading the warning, I put the pen down on the table and sped to the bathroom without saying a word. I had to hurry, because I was about to lose my dinner. I crashed into the bathroom and got to the sink just in time to hurl. The warning had reminded me of Venezuela too much, with the fact that the Na'vi had killed people just for being there.

I finished wiping my mouth just as one of the suits came into the bathroom and asked, "Are you okay?"

"No," I replied. "I can't do this. I can't go to Pandora."

"Look, Jake. There's no other option for us at this point." He sounded like he was getting tired of me trying to weasel my way out of this job.

"No, you don't understand. It's because that warning said the Na'vi will kill just because we're there. That's exactly what Venezuela was like, and I can't go through that again. I can't fight in another war like that."

The suit looked down and sighed. "I understand how you feel."

The door opened again, and the other suit poked his head in. He whispered something to the first suit. Both of them smiled.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Um, Jake," the second suit began. "Even though nobody else is here besides the mortician, do you realize you're in the ladies' restroom?"

"No, but thank you for pointing that out," I said sarcastically. I looked around and saw there was a suspicious absence of urinals.

The first suit whispered something else to the second suit. The second suit nodded and said, "Jake, would you come with me, please?"

"Why?" I asked.

"We have a few more pictures nobody else has seen of the Na'vi. I think you might be interested in looking at them."

"No, thanks. I don't need to see anybody killing anybody else."

"Jake, just come with me."

I hesitated and said, "Fine. I'll be out in a minute." I washed my mouth out and drank some of the water before I wheeled out of the ladies' room. We returned to the table in that glass room. I glanced through the window and saw that the box Tommy was in was almost burned away. I sighed.

"Jake, would you take a look at these?" the second suit asked.

I turned in his direction and saw he had a handheld screen with a display on it. It showed a group of what I assumed to be Na'vi children, around twelve years old or so, and they were standing on a small stairway leading to an open-air room. It was a standard, organized group picture. And the children were smiling because someone was taking their picture. But their smiles looked natural, not forced. They looked happy to be there, wherever they were and whoever they were with.

Every time I saw a picture of a Na'vi, I always liked their blue skin. It had a calming effect on me.

The suit clicked a button and another group picture showed up. This time, the same group of smiling children was there, but with an older Na'vi, maybe thirty-five or so. She had a maroon Stanford tank top and khaki shorts on. There was no war, no fighting. It looked like a teacher and her class of students.

"The older Na'vi is actually an Avatar. She's the one who spearheaded the program, and she's the one who helped us get this program moving and establish contact with the Na'vi," the suit explained. "Without her, we'd have almost no contact with any of the Na'vi clans." I nodded, feeling a lot more relaxed after seeing those two photos. I even smiled a little bit.

"So why don't you give these to the news networks?" I asked.

"We keep the pictures under wraps for two reasons. First, if people saw these pictures, there'd be a huge rush to sign up for the Avatar program just to interact with the Na'vi children. That would be too much work for the RDA to handle, and besides, the Avatar program is one of the most exclusive groups of people on Earth. This is because of the stringent requirements to get in. We can't have a bunch of random people off the street sign up for the program, and even if they did, about ninety percent of them would quit within a month. It'd be a waste of time and money. Second, these photos are intellectual property of the RDA. We've banned any source from obtaining photos of the Na'vi or Pandora for that matter, unless we give our consent for distribution. Keeping this information secret increases the speculation about Pandora, but it also means that the candidates for the Avatar program are the most dedicated people. The people who _want_ to put forth the effort for training. The ones who believe they can make a difference."

"A difference in what?" I asked.

"A difference in establishing favorable contact with the Na'vi. From the transmissions we receive from Pandora, the hospitality of the Na'vi seems to go in phases. One month, they might be willing to share their world with us, and the next, they might be trying to keep us from getting too close to them. We're trying to make it so that the Na'vi view us favorably all the time."

"Do you think it's because of stuff we're doing?" I asked.

"That's a good question," the other suit said. "The RDA officials stationed there won't give us any information regarding the effects of their actions on the Na'vi hospitality, probably because getting that type of information would require putting valuable personnel in extreme danger. All they're telling us is that the Na'vi are either angry with the people there or they're tolerating our presence." I nodded in understanding.

"Okay," I said. I wondered if the transmissions from Pandora were still current when they arrived at Earth. "I know Pandora is more than a light-year away, so wouldn't that mean that the information would be over a year out of date? What if the Na'vi, like, killed everyone on Pandora in that year the message was travelling to Earth?"

"Yeah," the suit began. "I don't understand how the info gets here this quickly, but the transmissions are instantaneous. It's something to do with entanglement, but I don't know anything about quantum physics."

"You're serious?"

"Yep. In fact, if you want a demonstration after you finish with the job application, we can show you the information really is current."

I thought about what he said for a minute or so. "Okay, let's see what this is all about," I said. I printed and signed my name on the waiver, and one of the suits signed his name as a witness. I wondered if this waiver told the whole story. A fleeting thought raced through my head. Maybe the Na'vi had killed a person or two because of something those people did. For a moment, I doubted that they would kill just to kill, especially after seeing those two photos.

In any case, I figured that the RDA was taking no prisoners in keeping us safe on Pandora. I had found out each Avatar costs in the hundreds of millions of dollars, so the RDA certainly wanted as many alive as we could keep. I had noticed another thing too. Why were they letting me know about the Na'vi _now?_ Six years before I was supposed to arrive at Pandora, and I was already being cautious about this contract. No doubt about it, the RDA wanted me alive for the entire mission.

Alive. I glanced at the furnace again, where the box that held Tommy was all but disintegrated. Tommy wasn't alive. Not anymore.

We continued on the papers in front of me. The next form was about medical allergies. "Why do I have to fill out something about medical allergies?" I asked.

"The form will tell you, but in case you can't understand it, Pandora has a much weaker magnetic field than Earth. Lots of radiation gets to Pandora, especially at certain times of the year. You'll need an iodine supplement to help you survive there."

"What's wrong with iodized salt?"

"We use that too, but we've found out that it doesn't provide enough iodine to help your longevity on Pandora."

"Okay." Even though the suit had helped to explain the idea behind taking iodine, I still didn't really understand his explanation. I guessed I should just take the pills and not worry about it.

In a stroke of irony, the next form was a waiver about accidental poisoning through potassium iodide tablets. Before I signed it, I asked, "If I'm supposed to be taking pills that are gonna help me survive, wouldn't you make sure they'd be safe?"

"As far as our doctors can tell, potassium iodide is the best choice for an iodine supplement, even if it's mildly toxic. The dose is pretty low for each tablet. Basically, don't take more that what you're prescribed."

I half-rolled my eyes before I signed the paper. One more sheet was finished, but there was a heap of papers still left. I flexed my right hand and wrist, working out a twinge in my hand that was on the verge of becoming a cramp. Sighed. And continued writing my hand off.

We eventually got the papers finished, and they handed me a manual about the psionic link and the Avatar program. Told me to get it finished before the launch date. They said they'd pick me up one day before launch and get me ready. Groovy. Somebody to do the work for me.

Before we left the crematorium, the mortician came up to me and said, "Jake, I'm really sorry for your loss. If you would like your brother's ashes, it will take about five minutes for me to get them in a container for you."

I looked toward the furnace, where the fire had stopped burning. There weren't any remnants of Tommy's box on the rack inside. I looked down and sighed. "Okay, I'll wait," I said.

"Be right back," the mortician said as he strode toward the furnace.

As the mortician gathered Tommy's ashes in an urn, the suits took me out to their white van and helped me load into it. All three of us got soaked because the rain from earlier tonight had turned into a torrential downpour.

The mortician came running out toward the white van with the urn full of ashes. "Here you go, Jake. Best of luck on Pandora." He gave me the urn.

"Thanks," I said. The sliding door in the back of the van closed immediately after I thanked the mortician. The two suits climbed into the front of the van. We drove off.

I stared at the urn I was holding in my hands. The gray, nondescript urn full of Tommy's ashes. I'd have to find someplace safe, someplace protected to store these ashes. I'd need someplace secret, so that when I shipped back to Earth, they'd still be here. I started thinking about places that I could store the ashes when an unrelated thought slammed itself into my mind: training. On the way to the RDA compound, I asked one of the suits, "How am I gonna train for this?"

"Normally, you'd be put through a three-year training course, but you've only got ten days. The manual in your hands should give you enough of a start so that you're not _completely_ clueless once you arrive on Pandora."

We drove from the crematorium to the RDA compound in the city. It was a drab six-story building with the RDA logo on the front. The suits directed me into an elevator and pushed the button for the third floor. We arrived on the third floor and headed toward a large room with computers stationed throughout. A computer lab. We stopped at an unremarkable computer. One of the suits booted it up and opened a program. Just like a chat window, there was a list of contacts. He selected "AVTR Supervisor: Grace Augustine."

"Okay, Jake, any information you send through here needs to be succinct. Make it short and to the point."

"I want Grace to know that Tommy is dead and that I'll be replacing him."

"I don't think that would be such a good idea. You'll have a very angry supervisor for the six years that you're on Pandora."

"The supervisor's gonna be angry no matter what! I'd rather let her know now so she can prepare for me."

The suit shrugged in understanding and typed into the command prompt. _Tom Sully dead. Twin Jake Sully replacement._ He hit send.

"There is only one problem we have with this system. Someone else has to be at the computer on the receiving end to see the message. It might be days before anyone sees this. In any case, we'll take you back home and if we get a reply within the ten days, we'll show you. Sound good?"

"Good enough."

They took me home to my apartment complex and said to be ready in ten days. I nodded and went inside with the manual, my exopack and Tommy's ashes in my lap. I was too tired to start anything today, so I placed everything next to my bed, crawled underneath the covers and went to sleep. And I had more of those flying dreams. I was starting to wonder if these dreams were related at all to Pandora.

Get real, Jake. They started before I had even sniffed the idea of going to Pandora. There was no way they could be related. Could they?


	4. Chapter 4

Time was passing like molasses in winter. Have you ever noticed when you're anticipating something big, time slows down? I wasn't even excited about going to Pandora, heck, I was scared about it. I had a guaranteed job that paid out the wazu, and all of a sudden, part of me wanted to be unemployed again. Every day was the same. It felt like all the days were rolling into one long day and night. It just never ended.

I tried to go back to my normal routine, but I just couldn't. I could barely eat to keep myself alive. Not that any other time was much better, mind you. All I could think about was Pandora. Pandora. Pandora. In my wildest dreams, I never figured I'd be going there. And I had to keep it a secret from everyone, according to the suits. They didn't want a repeat of what happened to Tommy. I wasn't close enough to anyone for this to be a big problem, especially after Tommy died. I was the only one left in my family. And I was almost dead, anyway, from that stupid war.

The entire time I was waiting, I had that fluttering feeling in the pit of my stomach. It just wouldn't go away. I was going to worry myself sick before I could ship out. The RDA certainly didn't want that to happen, especially when there was no replacement for me.

Two days (I think) after I had written my hand down to a stub, I was watching the news while eating chicken-flavored algae. The newscaster was droning on about some kind of recall with a filter that had been selling really well for exopacks. I wondered if it was the same filter that had been advertised the night I signed up for the Avatar program.

"…You can either call this number or go to the website listed at the bottom of your screen to have the filter replaced. Just provide the serial number and a new filter will be shipped to you at no charge." The newscaster stopped as someone else walked in behind the table and gave her a sheet of paper and whispered in her ear. I saw her mouth form a perfect "O." This wasn't good.

"Um…" she started. "Oh, God," she mumbled. "It appears terrorists have bombed both the trans-Atlantic and trans-Pacific tunnels. There has been no word on how many casualties have occurred." Exactly as she finished that sentence, a ticker with a black background and red letters stated the exact same thing at the bottom of the screen.

"God…" I mumbled. I looked down at my half-finished algae and couldn't take another bite. I wheeled over to the trash can by my sink and scraped the rest of the algae out of my bowl and placed it in the sink. Oh, man, those terrorists were getting really good at smuggling bombs into tight areas. The security at each station was unbelievably tight. You had to get to the station about two hours early, because security officials inspected everything _by hand_. Sure, we had x-ray machines, just like at airports. But everything was turned over, rummaged through and examined for any kind of hazard. And to sneak two bombs at the same time onto the trains? I couldn't begin to think about what kind of production that would take.

I turned off the wall and slithered into bed. I pulled the cover over myself, but couldn't sleep a wink that night. I went from excited about a job to hoping it would be cancelled and then to the when-the-hell-can-I-get-off-this-planet attitude.

* * *

My phone rang three days after the ocean tunnels got bombed. I fumbled it around before answering. "Hello?"

"Hello, Mr. Sully," the voice on the other line began. "My name's Justin Cox. I recently saw that you had submitted an application to work as a receptionist in our offices. I'd like to schedule an interview with you in two weeks. When is the best time for you?"

Oh, crap. What was I supposed to say to him? I couldn't tell him I was going to Pandora; I needed to follow the suits' orders. I thought up a lie on the spot. "I appreciate the offer, Mr. Cox," I began, "but I already landed a job somewhere else. Thanks for your interest, though."

"Oh, not a problem. Where will you be working?"

"Pan…um, sorry, Target," I stammered. Trying to avoid saying "Pandora" was going to be a lot harder than I wanted it to be.

"Very good, sir. Thank you for your time, and have a good afternoon."

"You too." I hung up the phone. Put it down on my bed. I thought for a moment, picked it back up and wheeled over to my kitchen table. I realized going to Pandora wasn't gonna be a weekend flight. I'd be gone for at least a decade, like Tommy had said.

On the table was a card from one of the suits. I dialed his number and listened to the rings, hoping he would pick up. One ring, no answer. Two rings, still no answer. I started tapping the edge of the card impatiently on the table. This was Murphy's Law in action: When you really need to call someone, they won't answer. The ringing stopped. I expected an automated message to play.

"This is Mike," the voice on the other line said. I waited for any other words to come my way, thinking I was about to leave a message. After a brief moment, the voice asked, "Hello?"

"Mike, this is Jake Sully," I said. I sighed in relief.

"Is there a problem?" he asked.

"Yeah, how long will I be away from Earth?"

"Um, about eighteen years or so. Why?" I had my answer about the length of time: definitely _not_ a weekend.

"How do I let my apartment manager know about this?"

"We've already got most of that type of paperwork handled for you. However, send me an email with contact information for your manager, and we'll get it taken care of for you." This guy was almost a step ahead of me. Apparently, he was used to this type of work.

"Okay, thanks. I think that's all I needed."

"All right, see you in five days."

"Bye." I hung up without listening for his goodbye. I wheeled over to my computer and found my manager's contact information in my address book. I emailed the info to Mike, knowing he'd help with this ordeal. I was so glad I didn't have to deal with this kind of stuff. I'd be coming back to Earth eventually, and I would like to have a place to live.

Within two hours, my phone rang again. It was my landlord.

"Jake, you need to come to the clubhouse to sign a waiver for your upcoming job."

"Okay, I'll be right over. Thanks." I hung up the phone and wheeled over to the clubhouse.

Just like she had said, there was a waiver sitting on her desk, waiting for me. "Here you go, Jake, just sign this, and you'll be on your way."

I briefly glanced at her and said, "Okay." I pretended to read the two pages over, but I got no information out of the waiver at all. I scrawled my name at the bottom of the second page and gave it back to her.

"So where are you headed?" she asked innocently.

I wanted to magically disappear, but that would have looked suspicious. "Um," I stammered, my mind racing to find an excuse. "I'll be starting work in…Chile."

"Isn't that where you were fighting about a year ago?"

I may not have been smart, but I knew South America wasn't one single country. "No, that was Venezuela." Just saying that word brought back horrible memories. My stomach lurched. Before it got too bad, I eased myself out of her office, saying, "Thanks, I'll see you later."

"Okay, have a good time!" she said cheerily.

"Uh-huh," I mumbled back. I just wanted to make sure that everything was in order before I shipped out to Pandora. But I got more than I bargained for.

As I reentered my apartment, a realization shot through me. Tommy was an anthropologist. I guessed that anthropology meant that he would have been trying to establish contact with the Na'vi, like the suits and that paper had said. In all likelihood, I'd be doing the exact same thing, but with no training whatsoever. This mission would be pointless! I'd be killed right as I neared their home, because the waiver said they were against human contact. But who could I convince about this? It all spiraled back to the common scum problem, where the RDA wouldn't even come close to listening to me, even if I was right.

I rushed to the manual that I had gotten through without remembering a word and tore it open. The table of contents was first. I traced down the list of sections with my finger, whispering the titles to myself: "Pandora, page 3. The Na'vi, page 7. Na'vi Language, page 10. The Avatar Program, page 14. Hell's Gate, page 20." Wait. Hell's Gate? I wondered why people decided to name the compound on Pandora "Hell's Gate" instead of something more inviting. I also wondered why I didn't pick that up the first time around. I guessed the Avatar Program section had the info that I was looking for, so I flipped to page 14. After a few page turns, I found the section on the jobs that I would be doing on Pandora. The top of the page had the jobs listed in bullet points:

- Establish contact with the Na'vi

- Cultural exchange with Na'vi

- Study of flora and fauna on Pandora

_Great_, I thought. My mind began coming up with ways that I could "miss out" on the scheduled departure to Pandora, but nothing was anywhere near feasible. The RDA was about to waste millions of dollars…on me.

* * *

I had the news on tonight, listening to an engineer break down the ocean tunnel bombings in excruciating detail while I ate a bowl of beef-flavored algae. Yeah, it was way worse than I could have imagined. How does eighteen-thousand-three-hundred-four casualties sound to you? No survivors.

"…So the bombers each waited for the trains to pass each other before detonating the bombs. They had smuggled them into the stations through an elaborate routine involving approximately six exchanges and sleight-of-hand techniques. For security purposes at other transportation locales, we cannot disclose the methods used. Suffice it to say, however, that the techniques were the same at both Los Angeles and London. The bombs were remote-sensored and each went off, blowing a hole in the ocean tunnels about the size of a basketball." As the engineer spoke, a diagram of how the explosions took place unfolded on the screen, showing a mock explosion and blue arrows signifying water rushing into the tunnels. "The tubes were vacuum sealed, which made travel between the two destination cities quicker than normal. When the holes opened in the walls, water rushed in, further weakening the structure of the tunnels. The area around the hole began to sag, and about five hundred yards on either side collapsed and sank to the bottom of the ocean floor. This started a domino effect, because as the first sections collapsed, the support next to it couldn't hold the weight and collapsed too. The cascade progressed all the way to the stations."

The engineer paused and sighed before continuing. "As water rushed up the tunnels, it turned to steam, boiling because of the lower pressure inside the tubes. Within minutes, all four of the stations in Tokyo, Los Angeles, New York and London were essentially destroyed, killing anyone nearby instantly due to the force of the water shooting through the tunnels."

"Could there have been any survivors?" one of the reporters asked.

"Not likely," the engineer shook his head. "The tubes were vacuum sealed to help speed travel. There was no way out. Designing an emergency exit wouldn't have helped because of the force of the water rushing into the tunnels. The trains were destroyed within seconds. The water reached the stations within minutes, travelling faster than sound. If any alarms went off after the tunnels were destroyed, people didn't have enough time to clear the boarding areas. Basically, they'd have to get back above ground to avoid being killed by the explosions."

"What is the status of the tunnels now? Can they be repaired?"

"I don't think so," the engineer said. "The weight of all that water collapsed the tunnels all the way to the stations. They'd have to be rebuilt from scratch, and I'm not sure if we have enough Unobtanium. Another problem to consider is security. How are we going to tighten security so that nothing like this can happen again? We could exhaustively train each of the security employees, but seeing how creative these terrorists were, we don't think rebuilding the tunnels will be happening soon."

"So what is TSA doing to stop bombings like this from happening again?"

"Several things. What stands out to us the most is that security past the checkpoints was lax, which led to several failsafes being ignored or turned off. Take the detectors on the trains, for example. Those detectors look for certain materials which correspond to bomb structures. I mean, you can't just walk into a train with a sack of gunpowder and hope to blow it up. Destroying a section of the wall outside of the train took at least a few C-4s if not something stronger. And C-4s have an external structure which can easily be identified or detected."

"Well, we'd like to thank Jayson Hasth from an RDA engineering team for joining us today," the reporter said to the camera. Jayson nodded. "We'll be back after this word from our sponsors." The wall went blank for an instant, and a commercial started. God, I couldn't wait to get the hell off of this planet.

* * *

The night before the suits were supposed to arrive, I started packing. I only had one suitcase, so I needed to make the packing work. Eighteen years on one pair of pants, or worse, would not be very fun. I started with the essentials. Boxers, bathroom necessities and t-shirts. I took ten of each of the pairs of boxers and t-shirts. While I was puzzling over what else to put in, I flipped on the wall in my living room, knowing the news was on.

"…and the day after tomorrow marks the launch date for the next shipment of goods and personnel to Pandora. The launch will take place in Cape Canaveral, Florida, but if you can't make it to watch the lift off, you can stream live video directly to your TVs at five o'clock local time. We wish our friends only the best of luck on their assignments." I smiled a little, knowing I was going to be on that shuttle in Florida. I thought that was kind of the anchorwoman to wish me luck. I wished I could shake her hand, even though she had no idea that I was going to Pandora.

I wheeled back toward my suitcase while the TV was still droning on. I packed five pairs of shorts and five pairs of pants, hoping that would suffice. After working in the clothing, I wondered if I would need anything else. Maybe electronics. I packed my CD player and wheeled over to my collection of CDs. I wasn't sure if I would have access to a music library on Pandora. Probably, but I wanted to play it safe. I had a small stack of CDs in one corner of my apartment. As I was leafing through them, the fourth one from the top caught my eyes. It was an autographed CD with a worn cover and faded picture. _Wildflower_ by Keiko Matsui. My favorite CD. Tommy had bought the CD in an auction some years back while we were in high school. For me. I never got tired of listening to Keiko's music. It was always very calming to me. And Tommy was the only person in existence who knew _Wildflower_ was my favorite CD. That was one of our little secrets. To this day, I still have no idea why we kept it a secret, but we did. Like we were part of some exclusive club, or something like that.

I grinned from ear-to-ear as I wheeled over to my computer. Opened my music library and clicked on the playlist entitled "Keiko Matsui." One hundred eighteen songs, all by one artist. Clicked shuffle. When listening to music, I always liked the songs to be out of order for some reason. I cranked the volume all the way up as the first song "Overture for the City" announced itself with a massive trumpet blast. I relaxed for the first time in nine-and-a-half days, not caring if my neighbors were bothered by the sound. I continued packing while listening to my favorite music.


	5. Chapter 5

The doorbell rang. I wheeled over to the door, and the suits were there again, just like they had promised ten days earlier.

"Ready?" one of them asked.

"I guess."

I had all of my stuff packed up and ready to go. But they walked in and rummaged through my suitcase, taking out almost all the clothing I had neatly arranged. One of the suits found my copy of _Wildflower_. He held it up for me to look at and was about to say something. I saw what he was doing and immediately told him, "Don't take that. I don't care how much it's worth."

The suit shrugged. He put it back into my suitcase. "You'll only need the bare minimum for the hotel tonight and while you're awake on the shuttle. All your other clothing and essentials will be on Pandora. Oh, and you have a laptop. Good." The other suit took out my bathroom essentials and replaced all of them with travel versions. I didn't object after hearing that I was gonna have stuff waiting for me six years in the future.

Before we left, I wheeled across the living room and grabbed a framed picture of Tommy to take with me. I put it into my suitcase. He was the reason I was supposed to be on this God-forsaken shuttle bound for somewhere I was going to regret. I felt kind of sorry because I had been tossed into this situation with no training. Tommy had worked for the past three _years_ for this opportunity. But I couldn't back out now.

All three of us moved to leave at the same time. I grabbed my exopack on the way out, while the suits produced theirs from underneath their coats. I locked the door behind me and sighed. "Do you have everything?" one of the suits asked. "You'll need to make sure you have everything you need now. You're not going to be coming back for eighteen years." I thought for a moment and eventually nodded.

_One life ends. Another begins_, I thought.

We loaded into the white van and headed for the airport. Destination: Hell.

One of the suits passed a sheet of printer paper back to me and said, "We got a reply. You can read it if you want." I took the paper from his hand and started reading.

RDA

Resources Development Administration

Interstellar Transmission between Earth and Pandora

RDA and AVTR Supervisor: Grace Augustine

**RDA:** Tom Sully dead. Twin Jake Sully replacement. (Sent 9:05 PM EST September 3, 2147)

**GA:** Not good. Training? (Received 1:13 AM EST September 5, 2147)

**RDA:** Will need training on Pandora. (Sent 9:55 AM EST September 6, 2147)

**GA:** Occupation? (Received 12:01 AM EST September 8, 2147)

**RDA:** Marine. Honorable discharge. (Sent 12:18 PM EST September 9, 2147)

**GA:** See him in six years. (Received 8:49 AM EST September 11, 2147)

End of transmission. Link closed at 8:59 AM EST September 11, 2147.

"I'm gonna catch hell once Grace figures out that my legs don't work," I mused.

"I doubt it. You'll be doing most of your work with the Avatar." Oh, I forgot about the Avatar. The working legs idea still eluded me a little bit, so I figured I'd catch hell anyway. I thought about the different reactions that Grace would give me when I arrived on Pandora. Disgust, ignorance, anger. Maybe she'd be relieved that there was someone who could fill in for Tommy. Then again, maybe she wouldn't. My thinking took up the rest of the short ride to the airport.

The security was light today at the airport. A five-minute wait at the security station and that was it. I guessed people were too afraid to travel _en masse_ after the ocean tunnels got destroyed. The suits had my boarding pass all ready for me, so there was no trouble. We boarded the plane without incident and left for Cape Canaveral. Where the weather was hot and humid.

During the flight to the launch site, the suits explained that they couldn't promise the restorative surgery that I wanted. I'd just have to find out when I would come back to Earth…eighteen years later.

After the plane landed and we got situated in my hotel room, the suits left for the adjacent room. "Put your stuff up, and we'll head to dinner in fifteen minutes," one of them said. I nodded and dropped my bags in one corner, away from the bed. I'd have plenty of time to rearrange everything after eating "real gourmet" algae. I took a pit stop in the bathroom, noticing the suits had requested a handicapped-available room for me. How nice. I put the keycard in my wallet and headed out the door, closing it firmly behind me. The suits came out of their room about thirty seconds later.

"Our ride's out front," one of them said to me. I followed along, pumping my way through the lobby and out the door as one of the suits held it open for me. We had a white van parked out front that was wheelchair accessible, complete with a driver who knew what was going on. He beckoned me to approach the van and helped me load onto the platform and into the van. One of the suits got in the front and the other climbed into the back, next to me.

The suit in the front produced a scrap of paper and told the driver, "We're headed here." The driver nodded and set his route via the GPS in the van. I waited patiently in the back of the van, wheelchair strapped securely to the floor and I was buckled into a modified seat. If the van crashed, I wasn't going anywhere, and neither was my wheelchair. Traffic in Florida was basically the same as back home, stop and go. Still lots of pedestrians, but the grime and discoloration here was a little more tolerable than back home. Seems like they didn't have an RDA factory belching tons of smog into the air. As we drove, I looked to my right and saw an RDA building. We were about ten miles away from the shuttle, which I had seen coming into the hotel, since the landscape was flat and cleared out from the hotel to the shuttle. It made sense to me, having some kind of representation by the RDA near one of their launch sites.

I felt the van turn and lurch over two speed bumps, feeling the back tires jump more than the front. The van entered a parking garage. I knew it without even looking out by listening to the echoes from the engine. We parked on the second floor and got out of the van. Took the elevator down to ground level and made our way around the garage to a restaurant.

All four of us entered and the greeters were in crisp black suits with red ties, and the waiters were in white suits with aprons and black ties. Everyone stood and walked ramrod stiff. I looked at the other three people who had brought me. The two suits, and the driver, who was wearing a polo shirt tucked into pants. I was in a wheelchair with khaki pants and a plain olive green t-shirt on. I had that feeling in my gut that said to hide underneath a rock until tomorrow.

"Four, with handicap accommodations?" the greeter said. "Yes sir, it will take us a couple of minutes." The suit talking to him nodded and shuffled back over our direction.

The other suit smirked and looked at me sideways. "You ever been in a restaurant this nice, Jake?" I looked at him and shook my head. I really felt out of place here. I was an army grunt. Someone who didn't care about the living he made, as long as it was a good, honest living. There was no way in hell I could have afforded a meal here. He smirked again and turned back to the greeter who was ready to show us to our table. I noticed that nobody here paid me any attention because of my wheelchair. Some people just glanced my way and returned to their tables with food or conversations. The greeter and waiters didn't mind that they had to find a special place for me so that I would be out of traffic lanes. To them, it was no problem. Kinda like that bar I got thrown out of.

He put the menu in front of me, and I looked at the items available. No prices, so whatever I ordered was going to cost an arm and a leg. But, hey. I was leaving for eighteen years tomorrow. This would be the only chance I could eat something this extravagant. Hell, I could afford it, too. No budget worries for two decades? I only had one thought: splurge.

I ordered water to drink and a filet mignon with mashed potatoes and a Caesar salad. I had never seen algae flavorings like these before, so I decided to try something new. But when my food arrived, I realized there was no algae present. The meal was actual food. A real salad. A tender steak wrapped in bacon. Real mashed potatoes. For an instant I balked. I was used to flavoring algae and heating it up in a microwave, and now, everything here was fresh. For once, I hoped my eyes weren't bigger than my stomach, because I was way too excited.

I tried the salad first. The lettuce was crisp, the croutons were crunchy and the dressing had the perfect amount of tang. Absolute perfection, none of that crap we buy at the store that has sickening texture. I finished the salad and moved on to the steak. I had asked for medium, because I wasn't sure how I wanted it cooked. Medium sounded like a safe bet to me. Besides, it was what the waiter had said first. I went with it. The steak had some kind of peppercorn spice on it, and the bacon augmented the flavor. The mashed potatoes were just as amazing, with their creamy sweet texture. I figured this was a hell of a parting gift from the RDA. They wanted me in a good attitude before they shipped me off.

I finished my meal and looked around the restaurant, noticing the people here treated this food like it was normal. If they could have seen the crap that I eat day in and day out, I bet their attitudes would have become a lot more grateful.

The waiter came by and cleared out our dishes. One of the suits gave him a credit card and the waiter came back with a receipt for him to sign. Forty minutes after we arrived, we left the restaurant full, and I was elated after that meal. We piled into the van and drove back to the hotel. One of the suits must have tipped the driver handsomely because he gave an obvious nod with a smile. Either the suit was rich beyond belief or this evening was part of the expenses from the RDA.

I got back up to my hotel room and switched on the light. Everything was like I had left it. Eating a steak, potatoes and salad instead of a typical bowl of algae left me tired, so I crawled into bed without changing clothes and pulled out that manual, hoping it would get me to fall asleep faster. I started reading. Randomly, I flipped to page 15. I thought this page had magically appeared, because the other two times I tried to read the manual, there wasn't a page 15.

_Neural Interfacing_

Being a human/Na'vi hybrid, the Avatars share characteristics of both humans and Na'vi. For example, Avatars have five fingers per hand, whereas Na'vi have four per hand. Additionally, Avatars have eyebrows, while Na'vi do not. However, the Avatars share the height, strength and eye color of their Na'vi donors. The most important Na'vi trait the Avatars have is the neural queue. Initially, the queue looks like an ostentatious, waist-long braid coming from the back of the Avatar head. _This is not hair_. In reality, the hair protects an extension of the nervous system. The Na'vi (and presumably Avatars, although this has not been field-tested) can use this queue to connect with some of the wildlife, including direhorses and banshees. When connected, the Na'vi controls his/her mount solely through the mind, freeing his/her hands for other tasks, e.g. hunting…

I looked up from reading and thought for a minute. The Na'vi use their _hair_ to control animals? I looked at the section again. _An extension of the nervous system_. I thought this was too crazy to be true. This was bordering on movie-type fiction. There was no way someone could just magically "connect his mind" to an animal. Not even maybe. I yawned as I was puzzling over this. Even though I was scared half to death and confused beyond belief, I still felt tired. I needed a decent amount of rest anyway for tomorrow. I put the manual down, pulled the covers over me and fell asleep almost instantly.

That flying dream came back again. Just like the other umpteen times, it was the same all the way through. Charred landscape, flying, no legs. This time, I realized I was dreaming. So I tried to notice things. Like the trees. There wasn't much left of them, just stumps and a few trunks here and there. But everything was vertical. Maybe an explosion? Like a bomb detonated? Explosions have that shockwave that destroys everything going outward from ground zero. An explosion would have made those trees snap in two and fall over away from the blast. Even though a fire after an explosion would probably get rid of the fallen trees, the stumps would probably be there afterward. But that idea didn't make sense. There were some trunks left, and they were standing straight up. No explosion happened here. It was more like a wildfire.

Before I could figure anything else out, the image faded to black and disappeared.


	6. Chapter 6

I woke the next morning to a loud jangling sound. Grumbling, I slapped at the alarm clock when I realized it was the phone ringing. I tried to look for the damned phone with my eyes halfway working because it felt so early. My hand found the earpiece and lifted it.

"'Lo?" I mumbled, trying to say hello.

"Good morning, this is your wakeup call. Please enjoy our complimentary breakfast before you head out…" _Click_. I hung up the phone before the bellhop could finish. Blinked a few times with a groan and looked at the alarm clock. 5:45 am. About forty-five minutes earlier than normal.

I went through my morning routine and rolled down to the lobby, where breakfast was waiting for anyone who was staying here. The suits were already eating breakfast. One of them saw me and asked what I wanted to eat. "If they got eggs and potatoes, I'm happy," I said. He nodded and started to fix a plate for me. I wondered if I was still dreaming. I had a first-class meal last night, and someone was now getting my food for me at a buffet? He put the plate down in front of me. Eggs, bacon, potatoes and two slices of toast with grape jam. All of it was real. Thinking back, I realized that the hotel we were staying at was no slouch either. But I wasn't gonna complain. I wanted real food again, and I got it. I started hankering into breakfast after thanking the suit. He nodded back to me and continued a quiet conversation about nothing to his cohort. They were relaxed, like they didn't have to worry about chauffeuring me anymore. I guessed they figured once I was on the shuttle, I was no longer their problem.

We piled into the white van again, same driver. The drive over to the shuttle was about thirty minutes. The van stopped and the driver got me unloaded. The suits shook hands with him. One of them tipped the driver. The suits walked in front of me toward the shuttle and left me with another representative of the RDA waiting for everyone to show up.

"This is Jake Sully," one of the suits told the rep. "He's replacing Tom Sully."

The rep looked at his sheet, mumbled something and nodded in understanding. He highlighted a line on the sheet and said, "We're waiting for a few more people to show up. Just wait around here, shouldn't take long." I nodded.

The suits shook hands with me and gave me their business cards, just in case something came up eighteen years later. If they weren't retired. Or dead.

"Ready, Jake?" one of them said. Damn right I was ready. Ready to have a nervous breakdown. I had all of these questions about the trip to Pandora, how cold was it going to be in cryosleep, how long was my assignment, what I would be doing, just everything. Dammit. Fine time to have a nervous breakdown.

"I guess," I said, shrugging.

"Take care, Jake," one of them said, clapping me on the shoulder. They left me at the shuttle. Its nose was pointed skyward, ready to lift off. That thing was massive.

There were about a hundred fifty other people milling around. Some of them were smiling, chatting excitedly about the trip four light-years away. Some were just staring at the shuttle, hoping to God that they wouldn't die on the way out. And some of them were looking at me with that "disabled" look in their faces, wondering what the hell I was doing here. This had to be one of the biggest mistakes of my life.

The elevator up to the shuttle entrance held about fifteen people at a time, so I patiently waited until the last group, since my wheelchair took up a little more room than a standing person. When I exited the elevator, I saw four attendants helping everyone get settled into the shuttle. I eased myself to the back of the line, since I'd have to figure out what to do with my wheelchair, and because the attendants would probably balk at getting me situated.

Turned out I was right. One of them looked at me with that patented "disabled" look that I was so familiar with.

"Are you going to help me or not?" I asked. That seemed to snap him out of his funk. I wheeled up as close as I could get to the shuttle, and two of the attendants hoisted me out of my wheelchair and carried me to my seat, using walls as floors while they were walking. Everybody who was sitting had their backs to the ground, knees above them. Another attendant pushed my wheelchair back toward the elevator.

"Wait, I need that once we get to Pandora!" I called after the attendant.

The attendant who balked at me said, "Relax, there will be one for you on the Venture Star." I looked at him quizzically, but didn't say anything as they lowered me into my seat. I was about to ask what the hell a Venture Star was, but stopped myself. These guys were in a hurry, and I figured slowing them down wouldn't have helped them get the job done any faster.

I started to try to help get myself buckled in, but one of them stopped me, while the other tightened my seat belts. "Too tight?" he asked mechanically. I shook my head.

I had started to wonder why there were over a hundred people on the shuttle bound for Pandora when the suits said that there were at most twenty Avatars. Maybe they were shipping out a new group of Avatars. Nah, that would have been way too expensive for the RDA. Besides, the suits said that the Avatar program was only for a select few. I figured most of the people were grunts, maybe miners or military or medical personnel. I wished I had looked around the group of people when I was on the ground. I should have found another Avatar person. Then he or she would be able to help me figure out what I would be doing on Pandora. For a short moment, I wondered if he or she would be geeky like Tommy.

The shuttle crew was the last group to load in. If my ribcage weren't where it was, my heart would have literally leapt out of my chest. I had passed the nervous breakdown stage long ago. I wasn't sure if the next stage had a name. The hatch into the shuttle closed behind the crew.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking," the ship's captain started. "We will be lifting off in five minutes. Right now, we're waiting for the all-clear from the control tower, and for the outside attendants to leave the blast radius of the SRB's. In English, this means that everyone not on the shuttle is moving a safe distance from the smoke plume that will be created by the rockets."

I glanced out the window and saw a massive clock counting down the seconds to lift off. T-minus four minutes and forty five seconds. This was going to be a long five minutes. I turned my head back to continue looking at the seat in front of/above me.

The guy next to me was losing. His. Mind. He turned to me and said something. I only caught the sound of his voice and looked in his direction. This dude was even paler than Tommy. I might have been scared, but I knew I wasn't experiencing anything like this guy was.

"Huh?" I asked.

"H-hey, man," he stuttered. "H-h-have you ever d-d-done this bef-fore?" He couldn't look straight. His eyes were darting around the shuttle, seeing everything and noticing nothing.

"No," I replied and looked out the window again. T-minus two minutes. He must have been really scared to ask an idiotic question like that.

"D-d-do you think th-that we'll make it t-t-t-to P-p-p-pandora? I m-mean, what if, like, the rocket, y-y-y-you know, um, like, blows up, or s-s-something like that?"

Just to mess with him, I calmly said, "Nah, this rocket will take us straight to the scene of the crash." I glanced out the window as I said this. I didn't want to entertain any suicidal thoughts yet. T-minus one minute.

He started hyperventilating and eventually passed out. Thank God. I guessed being sarcastic like that really did work.

"Folks," one of the crew members announced, "we're going to start the lift off sequence. Please make sure that you're securely in your seats with your seat belts tightened."

The crew said a bunch of lines to the control tower that sounded like individual letters and numbers to me. T-minus sixteen seconds. I saw water rushing out from underneath the shuttle. I wondered why in the world the launch site needed to be wet during lift off. Maybe it was because of the heat from launch. T-minus seven seconds. The shuttle started vibrating. Oh, crap. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. I felt the shuttle move downward slightly. Downward? This was a trip into space, not hell. Before I could think further, I felt like I was being pressed into my seat.

I had only experienced this type of g-force once in my life, while attempting a parachute jump in Venezuela. We were told to jump outside of some particular town near Caracas, and somehow the militias got word of our operation. The pilot of that plane was doing his best to keep us in the air, and feeling the acceleration in the shuttle reminded me of some of the banking that guy did over South America.

The shaking got worse and worse as the shuttle began to pick up speed. I squeezed my eyes shut and white-knuckled my armrests. I thought it might be possible to die from fright, but that wouldn't be good, since the RDA needed me to complete Tommy's assignment. I chose to stay alive.

Eventually, and by eventually, I mean a very long time later, the shaking subsided, and the shuttle leveled out. I couldn't believe that the RDA would sanction going to Pandora as just another business deal. Just getting there was dangerous enough. If those first two hours of flight were indicative of the rest of my mission, I'd be in for one hell of a ride. I opened my eyes and looked around. My stomach growled. Being scared out of your wits will make you hungry, especially if it's for two freaking hours. I glanced at the scared guy and saw that he was still asleep. I figured he'd wake up soon enough. I kinda wished I had passed out before the shuttle took off so that I would miss out on all the terror. I looked at my right hand and saw that it had dug into the armrest. My hand was locked tight, and I had just noticed my forearm burning from clenching my hand so tightly. A couple of seconds later, my hand relaxed, and I peeled it off the leather armrest. My right arm was shaking so bad I felt like I had Parkinson's syndrome.

One of the crew members yelled back to us: "Folks, there's no in-flight meal or beverage service here, but underneath your seats, you'll find a few granola bars and some bottled water. Eating and drinking in low gravity is kind of clumsy, so please try to keep the messes to a minimum. For the people in the back who don't hear this, pass it along." He said this just in time. I relayed the message back and searched underneath my seat. Found it. Two granola bars and a bottle of Dasani water, just like they had said. I was hungry, too. I wolfed the granola bars down and drank the water. A few crumbs were floating around me, which I thought looked very peculiar. _Welcome to zero-gravity_, I thought. I placed the wrappers and empty bottle into the trash bag in front of me.

The scared guy started to wake up. "Enjoy your nap?" I asked.

He stretched and asked with a yawn, "Wh-where am I?"

"You're not on Earth anymore."

"Oh. That wasn't so bad." I had to turn away from him to make sure he didn't catch me giggling.

I looked around, searching for something to catch my attention. Unfortunately, the view of Earth was behind the shuttle. All I could see was stars. Like it was permanently night. I relaxed and went to sleep.

* * *

After what seemed like a day, the crew began to chatter in their techno babble, waking me. People on the shuttle were getting excited about going to Pandora. Except me. Just another place I was going to regret, kinda like Earth.

One of the crew members said, "All right, boys and girls. Let's take this nice and slow. One hundred feet. Fifty feet. Twenty. Ten. Five. Four, three, two, one. Contact established." I heard and felt a dull thunk. I wondered what type of contact we had just achieved. I guessed it was with another shuttle or with a fuel tanker for the Pandora trip. "Folks," the crew guy hollered back to us, "we've just docked with the ISV Venture Star. You'll be in that starship for the remainder of your trip to Pandora. We hope you've enjoyed the first part of your voyage, and we'll see you again in about fifteen years or so."

My stomach lurched. I had just been hit for the umpteenth time with the realization that the Pandora trip would take longer than a year. Man, was there anything that I had forgotten to do back on Earth? I thought through some of the more important things that I needed to do before I left, but nothing struck me as missing. The worst part of it was that I'd be coming back to Earth sometime later, and everything had to be finalized before liftoff. Heck, I couldn't even make a phone call to let someone know that I had forgotten to maybe lock my door or something like that. I hoped I hadn't missed anything in my mental checklist.

I heard the airlocks hissing, but nothing happened for a few minutes. Then one of the crew members came floating through the aisle. I felt tempted to take off my seat belt and float around too, but I figured that would be way too chaotic for three crew members to control a hundred fifty little kids in a small candy store. On his way through the aisle, he said to us, "If you need to use the restroom, there are two here. One in front and one in back." At that point about twenty of the passengers unbuckled their seat belts simultaneously, and a shoving match began in front of the lavatory door. I laughed on the inside, even though I had to go too. I figured they'd wait for us anyway. I mean, what difference does an hour make compared to a five-year flight?

Eventually, my turn came around. I exited the lavatory feeling much more refreshed and normal. Zero-gravity was nice because I didn't have to worry about the dead weight I was carrying with me. No walking, only floating. And nobody could tell that I was paralyzed from the waist down. After everyone had finished, we made our way from the shuttle to the starship through the now-open airlock. All of us were headed toward what looked like small lockers or coffins. _Cryosleep_, I thought. _Only one-half of a percent chance of dying_. Only.

The cryo room, if it could have been called that, was incredibly roomy. I thought it was kind of peculiar that they'd need so much room just to store sleeping people. But it was clean and white. There was no trace of dirt whatsoever.

A technician floated up to me, garbed in a white jumpsuit with rubber booties. He had purple nitrile gloves on and a clipboard in his hands.

"Name?" he asked.

"Uh, Jake Sully," I said.

He checked the clipboard for a second and said, "Oh, right. You're Thomas's replacement." He pointed into a coffin with the label "Sully, T." So I was Tommy for a day. He started to help me wriggle into the coffin. "Straighten your legs," he told me.

I reached down toward my knees and tried to straighten them. Eventually, he got the message that I was a paraplegic. But he never said the "disabled" word. He just worked my legs into the coffin with a minimum of fuss. Before he strapped me in, he got an IV in my arm and said, "See you in five years." He strapped my legs, waist and torso to the bed. "Comfortable?" he asked. I nodded. He slid my bed into the coffin and closed the hatch.

I wondered how long it would take to get there. I wondered what it would be like. Like Earth? Or something completely different? I remembered the media was biased, so I was certain that the pictures they were showing us were doctored or chosen to make Pandora look like some kind of unfamiliar Eden. While I was thinking about this, I felt myself move toward my left. The starship was beginning to move. It didn't take long for me to feel the straps stretch around my left side. It took about three or four minutes for me to get tired from the sedative. Eventually, darkness closed around me and I fell asleep.


End file.
